Some years ago in college, Building Drawing class-
Professor: What is this I say, why is there no toilet in your house plan, eh?
Student: Sasura pagla gaye ho ka? Oo ka hai ki humra Bihar ma, khetwa hi humra sandas hovat. Ab ismein hamri ka galti hai? (In Bihar, we use the fields)
I laughed and looked back. That is when I noticed Roshan Mishra. He blushed, the color of his face fighting to dominate the color of his paan stained teeth. Gabbar Singh of Sholay fame is rumored to have been modeled after our Rossan Missra. ‘Arey o Chamakchalo! Coming to home?’ he called out to me.
I turned around quick and didn’t dare to look back.
But the romance had blossomed even before the seed of the fateful apple tree was sown. I was duly sent flowers to my hostel signed- I love you.- Roshan Mishra.
Ewwww! (Every successful romance starts with utter disgust, said a wise man, who obviously didn't account for Roshan Mishra or hungover Cupid)
Then I got a greeting card which I regret not preserving for posterity. It said something like- I love you. You looking very cueit in the pink dress. Ware today.- Roshan (I am VP frend)
Yikes! He’s getting all cozy now and he also threatened me with the VP link. Rabri devi, ma, meri raksha karo! (Save me!) Why do I have to look so cute to Biharis in particular? Why does my laughter have to have that Jhumritalaiya ring to it? Bhy, I mean why? I need therapy now!
Pink salwar-kameez was pushed to the bottom-most part of my shelf with a hazardous warning scribbled all over it.
But he had full faith in his charms and my weak melting heart. Next thing I know, I got a gift. A framed pencil sketch of something that was supposedly me. I have to admit, it wasn’t as bad as his building plans. It was in fact, way-off-the-charts better than me.
My friends were moved to tears. They urged me to consider going with him to the land of Laloo and help propagating the Mishra family in hopes of increasing the literacy rate in Bihar by a whole percentage (I do realize that is a lot of kids). My so called friends also called me ruthless and bought me ‘Unlearn English in 30 days’ so that Ross and I wouldn’t have comoonicassan (rhymes with Kamal Hassan) problems.
Somehow, heartlessly so, I didn’t choose the life that would have fetched me fresh warm buffalo milk on daily basis, but I did read the book (which explains my English today). In Ross’s honor, I have taken to backpacking because when I stay in tents, I have to go out to answer nature’s calls. Just like in Bihar.